All Too Beautiful Flame
by Phantom Phoenix Queen
Summary: Life has never been easy for Prince Loki. As the below-expectations son of King Laufey, he is used to constant disappointment. So when his marriage to Prince Thor is announced, Loki believes his life is about to change- and for the better. But he is wrong, and when life becomes too much, he finds compassion and love in a very unexpected place. Full summary inside.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: We do not own Marvel or Thor. **

**Summary: Life has never been easy for Prince Loki. As the below-expectations son of King Laufey, he is used to constant dissapointment. So when the promise of a marriage to Prince Thor comes about, Loki believes his life is about to change- and for the better. But he is wrong, and when life becoms too much, he finds compassion and love in a very unexpected place. Love is not forever, and happiness is not eternal, but sometimes, it's worth the risk. Thunderfrost and Stoki. **

**Authors note: I am super excited to post this fic, which was co-written by the lovely xCallMeLogiex! The first chapter was written by her, and as is normal we'll be switching every other chapter. This chapter is basically just an intro, so stayed tuned for the rest. :) Enjoy! **

There, in the dim lighting of his chambers, he lies on his back, ebony hair splayed across the emerald silk sheets, pale fingers entwined as his hands remain clasped upon his stomach. His eyes are transfixed on the charmed painting along his high ceiling; it's his favourite painting in all of the castle, since he charmed it to match the current season. He counts the snowflakes, watching as they whirl, twirl and swirl amongst themselves. They're having a grand old time, whereas he's in a bit of a slump, for he has disappointed his father; yet again. For the past sixteen, nearly seventeen, years he has tried his best to please his father, the King of Lazeroth, but his plans have crashed and burned, and he hates himself for it.

Today, he revealed to his father, after so many years of hiding them, a few of his abilities. How he can levitate, transform into mist, and even asparate to different places within the castle, but his father simply bowed his head and mumbled softly, "Oh, the shame you have brought me."

Not only is sorcery frowned upon and considered to be slightly sinister, it's more of a maiden's skill; one not widely accepted unless it is used for the good of the people. But King Laufey feels that his only son Loki is much more of an embarrassment than a threat to the people. He shook his head once more and walked away, his eyes trained to the floor.

After that, the Prince chose to lock himself in his chambers, away from the cruel kingdom. Because as long as he's beneath the painting, the same one he painted a few years back, he feels as if he's anywhere but here.

The soft sound of air being inhaled and exhaled are the only things one could hear as his chest rises and falls.

For as long as he can remember, he's been able to do those things that most can't. A faint smile creeps into his soft features as he remembers the feel of absolutely nothing beneath his feet as he painted that landscape along his ceiling. He remembers that day well, the day after his sixth birthday. The cool feeling of paint dripping down his forearms was a gift of its own. It was something he found a small comfort in. The long careful strokes were soothing as he used his paintbrush, the colorful liquid leaking down the handle, some even splattering down to his carpet. If one were to look close enough, the marks are still there, a distant reminder of that oh so magical day. Now, not only is it a comfort, it's a gateway, the painting, to a new place. To get away.

Oh, how he smiles at the thought of being away. He feels his chest tighten as the snowflakes descend at a much slower pace, then finally they cease; just an inky colour takes place, and small diamonds of stars begin to appear. He's heard that some wish upon a star, but he finds it to be childish. And he's anything but childish, but forgive him for wanting something more as he closes his eyes and starts to mutter the first word of his wish. Only to be interrupted by a cry of a bird. Snapping his eyes open, he shakes his head at the sillyness of his actions.

'A wish. How absurd!' The ravenhaired Prince scoffs, opting to sit up, bringing his knees to his chest as he crosses his ankles. He then folds his arms across his knees, resting his chin along his arms, letting that cold look of complete and utter disappointment replay within his mind.

He pretends not to feel that all too familiar lump in his throat, the wet warmth pooling in his eyes as that burn begins to settle into his nose. A small sniffle is all that is heard before his walls come down, and he cries; much like any other average day.

And if he doesn't recognize the smallness of his voice as he whispers to his favoured walls, he doesn't wince at how pathetic he sounds. "I am nothing but a disappointment." And he's heard these words all too many times before. It doesn't hurt as much, but it's still there, the sting. He repeats it until he begins to believe it, it's a mantra of truth, or so that's what he wants himself to believe, if only to make himself feel numb. Salty tears continue to roll passed his high cheek bones, passing his pink thin lips. He takes his bottom lip and bites, successfully hiding a broken sob.

"Nothing but a shameful disappointment."

Lying back, he twists in bed until his face is buried within the softness of his pillow, wincing as he lets the sobs take over, causing his body to shake. The painting above does nothing now, because he remembers of a time when he once painted his father a portrait of the castle. But his father chose to burn it right before his eyes, telling him to mature into a man that he could _finally_ be proud of. Needless to say, Loki cried himself to sleep that night; and several after that.

If he lived to make someone, anyone, proud of him, he would not have lived for nothing more than a throne, but lived for something, other than his father's approval. And that would mean the world and a half to him. To find someone that appreciated his artistic side as well as his other sides; now, that would be a life to live.

Sighing into his pillow, he faces the ceiling once more. His face is wet with tears, but he makes no move to wipe them away. Instead, he finds himself thinking of paint, and how he should start another portrait; but then that look of strong disapproval is there, behind his eyelids as he blinks. The prince quickly decides against it. His long fingers have tangled themselves in his hair, tugging, tugging, tugging, because he needs to stay in this moment. If he were to slip off to a random memory that's simply floating around in his head, he would just start crying all over again, and he would hate to do it; again. He can see his father shaking his head, hear his angered words. The prince whines at his own confusion, fingers still entwined in his locks as he mutters words even he himself can't seem to register. But if he strains his ears, he thinks he hears the words: "Shame" and "Disappointment.

His head is starting to throb from the almost constant tugging, and that's a good thing because it can help him. The pain is a dreadful anchor to the here and now, a place he doesn't want to be but needs to be. It's all confusing. And quiet. He's physically drained, yet he doesn't know why. All day he's lay here, and the few days before then. He hasn't realized it until now.

Closing his eyes, he allows himself to relax, truly relax, and it's only when he does, that his simple spell of his soundproof room finally becomes vulnerable to what's happening behind those tall doors. There's an urgent knock; his eyebrows furrow in sudden wonder as he quickly stands and makes his way to the door. Opening it, he finds a guard, a new one; father must have hired him. Green eyes meet cerulean ones that widen, but only for a fraction of a second.

"Yes?" he barely whispers to the new gaurd.

"Prince Loki," how he says his name, it sends a slight chill through Loki as he watches the guard's lips move, "the King requests your presense in his chambers. I am here to escort you."

And that's all that's exchanged between the raven haired prince and blonde man, as they share an appealing moment of silence on their way to see the king.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel or Thor**

**Authors Note: Hello everyone, Phantom Phoenix Queen here this time with chapter two :) I forgot to mention this in the previous chapter, but this story is AU. I'm sure that most of you have figured that out, but I'll say it just to clarify. Thank you all for the reviews, they fuel us and we love them! (And we are very happy to hear that you love the story!) **

Loki's past is shrouded in darkness and betrayal, and he knows it. The crown prince of Lazeroth bares many names- Silvertongue, Skywalker, Shadowdancer- and among them is the worst of all: Stolen Son of Odin.

The kingdom of Orabella is grand and gold, and everything Lazeroth is not. The king, Odin Allfather, is strong and respectable where Lauefey is cunning and feared. And Odin's son, Prince Thor, is as much a respresentation of Orabella as Loki is of Lazeroth.

Prince Thor is golden haired; he is strong, and caring, albeit a little daft, but caring nonetheless. Prince Loki is dark; he holds himself with grace and poise; he is perfectly kept, his ebony hair is never out of place, and his touch with politics is unrivaled. He is much like Lazeroth in this way, as the kingdom is known for it's cunning tactics and snake-like ambassadors.

But for all the talk of a golden city with glorious people and god-like leaders, Orbella has not always been peaceful. Loki knows this better than anyone, as he is the living reason for the infamous War; the great battle between Lazeroth and Orabella for none other than Prince Loki himself.

He does not remember very well, as he should not, since he was so young and young children tend to not remember much. But his father is never hesitant to remind him how the war started, and so he can tell the tale as if it had happened yesterday.

Although he does not believe it, Loki is very sought after. He is the son of King Laufey, the heir to the throne of an extremely powerful country that few can rival. When he comes of age, or when Laufey is dead, he will wear the crown of a country that owns the world.

Many yearn to be royal, Loki knows; his regrettable story begins with one such man. The birth of Loki- the son of Laufey, who descended from the stars is what they say, for he has no mother that he is aware of- brought joy and fear equally. In Lazeroth, the people celebrated for a week, harolding in the new baby prince. In Orabella, those in power metaphorically paced back in force with nerves. And so brought on Malekith, a poor man searching in vain for Orabellan knighthood in exchange for capturing the shadow prince.

According to Laufey, Malekith was a magic wielder; he snuck in, cloaked in invisibility, and stole the young Loki away, putting an illusion in his place. The magic held for thirteen days, as compliant and believable as if the crown prince himself was actually there. In the mean time, Malekith had brought the prince to his king and queen, Odin and Frigga.

Odin's immediate reaction had been to kill the Lazerothian noble, but Queen Frigga, a kind and caring woman, had been appalled by this. She fought her husband there, in public, to save the baby; enemy or not, she said, he was a mere child and had done nothing wrong. He deserved to live. The underlying message was clear enough, however; to kill the Lazerothian crown prince was a death wish for Orabella.

So Malekith was put to death, more of for the sake of saving Orabella than for the deed he had done, and Prince Loki came to live with the royal family whilst King Laufey was notified. It was here that Loki met Prince Thor, the slightly older and slightly rougher son of Odin and Frigga. He was kind and caring, just like his mother, and he fought tooth and nail to keep Loki at his side

Loki stayed for all of three weeks with the Odin family. Although Laufey had been notified much sooner, he had not been in any hurry to collect his son. When Loki had cried at this fact, Thor had been there, hand outstretched and hugs at the ready. He had comforted Loki, and at end of the day, they sat before Frigga as if they were both her children while she told them tale after tale. The three-year-old Loki had never felt so loved as he did that day.

On the first day of the fourth week Laufey came, and with his army. He twisted words, his upmost talent, and proclaimed that the royal family of Orabella had stolen his son.

And thus began the War; a twenty day battle with blood shed unlike either country had seen before. The only conclusion was that Lazeroth and Orabella would never again be allies, and that Loki would never again feel as loved as he had in those short weeks. It was then that Loki was given that horrible nickname, along with his first slap.

* * *

The only sound in the grand hallway was that of breathing and shoes hitting the ground. The blonde guard, a man of seventeen that wished to one day be Captain of the Guard, looks expectantly towards the ebony haired prince. For the past five minutes, his green eyes have been glued forward in an obvious state controlled by inner thoughts. He smiles slightly, the boy looks nervous, and it has always been his talent to set nervous people a ease. He reaches a hand out slightly, a reflex in which he'll playfully slap the prince's back and set him at ease, before he remembers that this is royalty, and he very may well lose his head for touching the boy like that. A moment of debate ensues, in which his mind battles between comforting his walking companion or staying quiet. He let's risk win out over carefulness in the end.

"Do not look so nervous, Your Highness. His Majesty sounded pleased when he called for you, I highly doubt anything terrible will come from this meeting."

The guard puts his hand on Loki's shoulder in a caring gesture. It must work, because Loki can feel himself smiling back at the guard's sunny face and relaxing his shoulders from the tight, hunched position they are currently in to the rigid, haughty but confident setting his father requires.

He and his guard stop in front of the door as two sentries bow before hastily, but gracefully, opening the doors to King Laufey's throne room. Loki raises his chin, dons his look of calm indifference and squares his shoulders. He wishes the guard would stay with him, as a sort of moral support; but before he can say anything, the blonde is winking and stepping to the side and trumpets are blaring to signal the prince's entrance. And then it is only he and Laufey in the room.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note: (This chapter was written by xCallMeLogiex) Sorry for the wait, writer's block can be pretty vicious at times. Since I wrote it in a half hour sometime early this morning it may not be the best.**

**Disclaimer: We do not own Marvel or Thor.**

He wishes the guard were to come back, stand beside him again, maybe even give him that reassuring touch of his. The announcement of the prince is heard, and he feels a little cold, sincerely wishing for the guard to be his shield, his warmth, and confidence.

A slight shiver runs along his spine as he steps into the room, his stomach is in knots as he takes another step, one foot in front of the other, until he's standing a foot away from his father. He bows, as is expected. His head follows, before he straightens.

"Father. You requested to see me."

A simple wave of the king's hand, and everyone is filing out of the room, and Loki wishes he was going with them. One by one they leave, and as they do, his nerves freeze over.

"Loki." his tone is strict, Loki nearly visibly tenses. "Let us walk while we talk." he takes a step towards the royal garden, though once he takes notice of the prince, who has yet to move, he pauses. "Loki, we shall walk and talk." It's a demand; demands are something that the ebony haired prince are extremely familiar with.

He isn't sure why he suggests it, but he does. "With all due respect, father, but may we stay here?" he then suddenly thinks, 'Near the blond guard.' Quickly, he rids himself of the thought, not wanting to wish for something that will certainly not come true.

The king simply agrees, "That would be best. We wouldn't want the rest of the kingdom to be startled by your reaction." he then tries to lift the corner of his mouth, a sort of smile, but it only reminds the prince of a sneer. "I believe that this would be best, this decision. For all of Lazeroth."

And Loki just knows that this decision will make his head throb, even more so. His hands go for his royal robes, quickly fists them. Once he earns a small scold from his father, he swiftly apologizes as he lets the cloth fall from his iron like grip. Bowing his head, he listens as his father sighs. He doesn't need to look up to see that the king is pinching the bridge of his nose.

He isn't sure why, but he always feels as if he isn't a prince, or even a person, whilst in the presence of his father. He feels like a burden, a heavy burden, yet at the same time, an obedient one. Because whatever his father says, he does. He tells him to sit up straight, he does. He tells him to walk with his head held high, done. Loki is a walking, heavy, burden of a drone. He was taught to respect and obey his father's commands; the very mention of his father's name and he would visibly straighten; he'll be as stiff as a board. It's always been this way, so when he finally hears the king voice his decision, he gulps. The prince's stomach drops, he tries to remember how to breathe.

"What?" is all he can muster up into an audioable squeak. "F-father?"

"I wouldn't be asking you to consider if there were other options."

The ravenhaired prince can feel his blood begin to boil. There was never a time when the king asked him to do something. It was always a cold, hard, demand. And he's close to pointing it out, though now is not the time to pick a fight.

His head is swimming, questions begin to attack his brain. "When did you decide this?" It's breathless, but the king manages to hear it.

"I've been planning it for quite some time, now." when Loki raises his eyebrows in question, the king waves his hand, dismissing the unasked question, "Specific dates do not matter-"

"They do, father." the king narrows his eyes at the boy, but Loki lightly pleads, "Please, they do matter."

There's that exasperated sigh, Loki's shoulder slightly slump, because he feels like a major bother. As if he annoys most without knowing how to stop or prevent it from happening.

"This past winter."

Winter, having always been Loki's favoured season, makes him slightly grin. Though, he furrows his eyebrows, wondering why his king has been thinking about this for the past several months. It seems strange, yet expected. Much like deja vu. Realization dawns on the prince, his eyes widen.

His voice just barely shakes with anger, and he doesn't care if his father scolds him again, he fists his robes as he hisses, "You don't mean you've been planning to simply give me away to some stranger, just to make peace between our kingdoms, since the passing of my birthday?"

"I did what had to be done! What have you done? Besides playing childish tricks on our servants and healers!"

If the blond guard were in the room, Loki wouldn't hesitate to hide behind him, because his father can be downright scary once he raises his voice. Loki flinches, but doesn't back down just yet, instead, a humourless chuckle seeps passed his pink lips. "As opposed to being cowardly as you are, you're now offering your only son as a peace offering." Whatever confidence he had is drained out of him as his father, his powerful king, steps closer to him.

"Do not offend me in my own house, Loki." His eyes are hard, as cold as ice, he hisses, "I raised you to think about the good of your people, to be selfless. You will be married, and that is final."

"I will not be married to a man I have yet to meet!" he reasons.

There's a tired look that overtakes the anger, the exhaustion. "Loki, please." he draws in a breath, "Please, do this, marry Thor Odinson, for the sake of Lazeroth." his father places a hand upon his shoulder, lightly squeezing it. It's meant to be comforting, but it hurts and causes more pain than reassurance. But that pain is dulled as he replays his father's words, the name.

That very name causes something in Loki to swell: confusion, excitement, worry. Pleasant butterflies take flight within his stomach.

"Th-Thor?"


End file.
